Cold and Hot
by jayilyse
Summary: Don't you think this is already past moiraillagiance territory? Isn't it past the point of no return?


You're itchy.

It's from the way his course, wiry hair touches your arms and neck, due to him lying on your upper rotational joint connector. He has an insane amount of hair and it refuses to tame itself. You could get lost in his hair and no one would be able to find you. Well, no one could find you right now anyway. Gamzee has chosen this dank and disheartening recess of the meteor to lurk in for the moment. Light is a foreign substance here, but so long as it hides him from Kanaya, you, Karkat, are completely fine with this – even if it kind of freaks you the fuck out. You haven't seen Gamzee in a while. He caught you while you were in a dream bubble – waking you up. You miss your moirail and all, but couldn't he have chosen a warmer place? Or at least some place that isn't leaking water from every pipe?

Your teeth chatter. The smell of wet woof beast is everywhere – it's the shittiest smell ever. You put your hands together and feel how frozen they are. The pricks of needles pool into your legs, begging for some movement to be made. But you won't move. It's as if Gamzee is a strange adhesive gluing your ass to the spot you are in – or you won't because Gamzee is probably comfy the way he is, leaning against your side with his own, and he's the only source of heat here. Any heat is good heat at this point.

Sometimes you can hear Gamzee's breathing pattern change from deep breaths and sighs, to fast, shallow ones that appear to have trouble consuming the stale air. You realize your moirail is a very confusing troll. What others see in him is completely different from how you view him. Nobody else gets to see him like he is right now – how his eyes are narrowing slightly or how he's biting his lip because he's thinking too deeply – how he's shaking when his body is stock still. It's you and only you.

He hasn't talked about anything this whole time. Fucking fantastic. It's about time you did something other than think. Trying not to jostle Gamzee too much, you move your arm so that you can put it around him. He settles into the new position rather quickly. You place your arm around him. Your head finds a resting place in the nesting haven that is his hair. Though unruly and tough, it's as comforting as petting a wool beast on a field trip to the creature blocks. You feel him nuzzling into you, and you, being the noble troll you are, reciprocate the action.

This feeling isn't new to you – or is it? It's similar to what you feel toward to Terezi. But…fuzzier? No. Warmer – but you're still cold as fuck. Would it kill a nooksucker to install a fucking heater down here?

…Anyway.

This feeling comes out of bum fuck nowhere when you're around Gamzee. You remember when it was just you and him, sitting on horn piles in the lab. You would climb the horn pile, or as he would call it, "The mountain of the miracle honks", and plop yourself next to him. All the honking it caused when either of you moved was a bitch of an annoyance. You didn't even have feelings jams back then – at least, you don't think. You weren't really moirails. Yet, you remember this feeling – every time he touched you, your chest would clench without it being painful. It was more annoying than a bulge licking serpent creature – not that you would know. You would sit and talk, mostly listen, about miracles. It feels like it could be ten sweeps ago – where the both of you would stay up all night and day – but no. It's only been one and a half, and you are about to hit the alpha session.

You barely see Gamzee now. Sure, when you go to sleep, he'll visit you in a dream bubble. It feels real but it doesn't. He's there but he's not. He's not there when you wake up. And why should he be? Considering what he's done, and how Kanaya talks shit about how she's going clown hunting, he has no reason to.

You could think of one, though.

You.

No, that's selfish. Yes, he's your moirail. But truth is he's got more important shit to be doing, apparently, and no, you don't feel lonely – who in the actual fuck would think you are? You don't need anyone. You are Karkat fucking Vantas. And you are not lonely. You don't need anybody – because you know nobody needs you.

That's right.

Nobody.

Stop it you little shit – don't you dare start to cry. It's not like this is news to you. In fact, here's a newsflash for you, wriggler. No one ever will.

"Karbro?"

You shake yourself out of your stupor enough to realize your grip on Gamzee has tightened. You loosen your hold automatically.

"Sorry, Gamzee."

"Want to feeling jam it out? Works miracles."

"It's okay. I don't –"

"Aw, c'mon, best friend! I'm always all up on the talking end. You need –"

You look at him, removing your arm from around him. His head turns you – looking but not looking – his appearance seemingly vacant. You give an incredulous look back.

"Need?"

Oh fuck no; the fucker just hit the key word right on the head. Before you know it, you're growling your words in a deep tone – just loud enough to be considered a scream.

"The fuck do I need when none of you need me!?"

The empty look disappears off of Gamzee's face when you scream. He glances between your face and your eyes – all the hurt and compassion you could ever see in the world in them. But you don't give a shit. Not now. It'll hurt him but he'll realize the truth later. You mutter a meager "later" under your breath. You want to get out of here as fast as possible. You attempt to stand up.

And you almost succeed.

For the way he was looking at you, there isn't one gentle thing about the way your moirail pushes you down – an almost-screech of an "oh fu –"fades to barely an echo of a memory as you are pushed down by him. He moves up so that the two of you are staring eye to eye with your back on the damp floor. His stare pierces, something feral in them that you can't avert your gaze from. The strange thing is, when he brings his calloused hands to your face, his touches are soft – a light caress, even.

"I need you."

You feel his face inching closer to yours to the point where you can smell his makeup – the scent of powder flowing through your nose and down your throat. The three indigo colored, now healed, gashes on his face…certainly he deserved them for what he did. Yet you can't stop yourself from feeling bad about them. Could you have stopped him before he committed the atrocities he did?

It pains you.

It hurts.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reach up to his scars. Gamzee eyes you – wary – apparently confused. He moves his head back a little as your hand continues its journey to his face, taking his time to realize what you want. In a way just as uncertain that you are, he shuts his eyes. It's his permission to do it. When your destination is finally reached you realize how well these wounds have healed. You would hardly notice that anything is wrong with his face by the smooth feeling alone. You hear the subtle _click click_ of a contented troll. You feel the tiniest push of a nose into your hand and rough lips giving the hint of a kiss to your palm. You wonder what you're doing here – why you're allowing this to happen. You take your hand away from his face, looking at it, and noticing the smudges of white on them.

It appears you are taking too long for Gamzee's taste.

Because his hands are around both of your wrists now – pushing the arm you had up back to the floor with a light thud – holding them there. His face inches back to where it was earlier. He's asking you. You know it, it just doesn't look like it – that wild look is in his eye again. But fuck that – you don't want makeup all over you face. You don't want to ruin your moiraillagiance. You couldn't bear to hurt him. Nope. Fuck that shit with a poison spiked, electrically charged, hundred foot pole.

But don't you think this is already past moiraillagiance territory? Isn't it past the point of no return?

Your blood pusher is beating against you, ramming you like a herd of beasts on a stampede.

You know what?

You know fucking what?

…..

Fuck it.

You close the distance between the two of you and it's not even a moment later before Gamzee is pushing back against you. Your eyelids close of their own accord. It's rough. His lips are chapped from biting them so often, and he nips at yours too harshly – some blood seeps out in droplets. It's so different from how he's trying give you tender touches, his hand on your face – trying to put your hair behind your ear – the other giving him support to keep his position above you. He's trying so hard, and it's completely failing because of the ferocity he's using on your now bruised lips.

Yet, somehow, it feels good.

_So_ fucking good.

Your blood, tasting of rust and salt – a shitty combination really, is visible on Gamzee now. He seems to be calming down as he pulls back and licks his lips, supporting himself on both hands with each on the respective side of your head. Perhaps he realizes that he's hurting you.

…

Why is he smiling like that?

"Candy red?"

Oh.

Oh _shit_.

"It's all motherfucking good, bro."

No. No it's not. Now he knows. He fucking knows and this whole relationship – whatever fucking kind of relationship this is or was – is going to stop. Highblood. The highest land dweller would never want to be shamed by hanging with a shitty ass mutant. Why would anybody, especially one that fucked up an entire universe? How can you make up for anything you've done – make up for what you are? You motion to speak – your meager excuses, your lame defenses – as you lift your head up, using your forearms as a crutch to keep you up. You can feel the tears edging to the corners of your eyes. Before you can do anything, he speaks.

"Don't worry your beautiful motherfucking self about it. Secret's safe with me."

And just like that he's back on you – less harshly than before. You pucker your lips as much as you can, and push him back with one hand – using more strength than you meant to.

"What the shit, Gamzee? We need to talk about this."

He looks at you, perplexity written all over his face – like he didn't comprehend a single word you said. You mirror his expression.

"Do you really not care?"

Like that of a newborn wriggler, his answer is pure – sincere – almost sickeningly so.

"Why would I?"

'Why would I' huh? Why would I? You know it should make you happy – that he doesn't give a shit or give a single fuck – but this pisses you off. Straight to the core – you don't know when you start to hiss and scream at him; hell, you barely realize what you're saying. It's as if the words of someone else are ghosting your ears. As smoothly as they are coming out, the words are angry and bitter. It's a combination you are used to speaking – it just has more meaning this time.

"I'll tell you why, fuck ass. You're an indigo blood. Why the fuck wouldn't you care? The highest of the land dwellers, two steps from king of the castle! There's a whole fucking hemospectrum, and you find out that you're moi…whatever the fuck we are, is a mutant – candy red! Of all the fucking blood colors – candy fucking red! I'm lower than a rust blood on this shitty ass scale. Isn't that reason enough for you to care? For fuck's sake, it's the only reason you need to kill me. No one else would blame – "

"Karbro."

"You! No one else would give a single fuck. Even Terezi wouldn't mind if you did. You'd be doing her favor, actually. I'm a shitty troll anyway. I gave a universe cancer! Who else could fuck up that bad –

"Karkat."

"Who else could have fucked up breeding a damn frog? I'll tell you who else. No one. No one could have fucked up this game more than –"

"MOTHERFUCKER, LISTEN TO ME."

Your mouth opens to continue speaking, but instead you leave it agape. Gamzee's voice turns into booming thunder while yours turns into nothing more than a squeak. You try to start speaking again; however, he gives you a look that could strike fear into anyone – his eyes narrow, his mouth in the midst of a scowl, staring straight into your eyes, and another bellow on the tip of his tongue. But his voice is normal volume when he speaks once more.

"I don't care. I said it plain and motherfucking simple."

It takes you a bit, but you find your voice again.

"Why?"

"I just don't."

"You should." You say in an almost-whisper, looking away from Gamzee's fiery stare.

"You're my motherfuckin' bro. I'm not going to kill my best bro."

That's when you realize it – you've been acting like an ass munch. You're trying to convince someone that they should kill you. How fucked up is that? This is quite possibly the stupidest thing you've ever done. You hang your head, staring downward at the tiny space of floor that's between your legs and where Gamzee's knee is. You've lost your words. You're drowning in a nonsensical wave of thoughts that are behind a stone wall – the wall will erode eventually. But not before you suffocate in the sea of words, sinking in sentences of self-pity and self-hatred.

It's then that you feel a cool, if not cold, hand lift up your chin, forcing you to look up. Gamzee's lost that look in his eyes – that one where you could tell he was going to nearly ravage your entire being. They show no sign of being any less intense, though. All the genuineness in the universe is in them.

"I would never hurt you."

Then he gives a mirthful laugh, taking his hand from your chin, and gradually moving upward to put his thumb on your lips. It stings. You find yourself flinching slightly from the touch, yet he continues on, casually moving the thumb from the left side of your lip to the edge of your right, later using his hand to cup your face.

"Unless it's for the motherfuckin' kinks."

You sigh into his thumb; your breath bounces off of it, making you feel it on your lips. So maybe you feel a little flushed for him – okay, maybe more than a little. But, if you are going farther, you don't necessarily want this to be how your first pailing goes.

"Gamzee?"

"S'matter, Karbro?"

"Could you be gentler?"

He gazes at you for a second, before a wave of understanding seems to pass through his features. He takes his cold hand off your face, putting it down to the floor to floor once more, and leans down for a peck, which you gladly give back.

"Motherfucker, I'd do anything for you."

That's when you decide to take the lead. You manage to lift yourself up with just one arm, somehow, and push down on the back of his head so his lips meet yours. You keep pushing, not hard enough to hurt, so that he recognizes what you are trying to do – let him put his entire weight on you. He takes the hint rather quickly, sinking down on top of you, putting one hand under your head, and the other cupping your cheek. You keep your hand in his hair as well, making your way to the base of his horns. A subtle, but definitely audible, moan escapes Gamzee's lips. You take the opportunity to take his lower lip and suck on it – not too hard, but enough to hear a small smacking sound as it leaves your mouth. His mouth is immediately back on yours, moving his tongue across your upper and lower lip, asking for entry. Without a second thought you grant him permission. His tongue glides across yours with relative ease, sending a shiver up your spinal erector, as well as making it feel like your stomach is doing a flip, along with a familiar heat forming itself below the proverbial belt. You hear yourself moan when he sucks the tip of your tongue, teasingly licking and twirling around it with the tip of his own.

Eventually, Gamzee takes his lips off of yours, and in a desperate plea to have them back you whimper – a sound you didn't think you could make. He gives you a smirk before maneuvering himself lower, moving one hand to cradle one side of your neck and the other making trails up and down your chest through the fabric of your shirt. You move one hand to the small of his back. A lick to your neck sends more heat, creates another moan. Yes, oh fuck yes, he's sucking above your collarbone – licking at all the red splotches he's making on your gray skin. It's getting too hot in here. You want to take your shirt off – feel the freezing floor against your bare back.

But you want to see him take his shirt off first.

You squirm below him, craning forward for more affection. You move the hand that was in his hair, down to the fringes of his shirt, and tug at it.

…

He doesn't notice. You tug at his shirt harder.

…

Still not noticing it.

Guess you'll have to help him with it.

You put your hands under his shirt. Gamzee notices your presence there, you think, but chooses instead to make another hickey on the limited space left on your neck. You claw at his back with tiny nails, unkempt as they are, sliding them down and making them ascend once more when you reach the band of his pants. You decide to tease him a bit. When you make your next trip downward, you hook your fingers in the waistband of his pants. He stops "abusing" your neck and bites his lip – you can tell it's not out of worry this time. He puts his forehead on yours – his knee starting to press against your bulge through your clothing.

Fuck the shirt.

You want the pants off.

Taking your time, you hook your finger into the band and pull the elastic toward you – making sure your hand is palming his bone bulge. Your reward is a husky sounding "mmmm". Putting the rim of his pants back in place, and taking your finger off of it, you start to knead at the bulge as tenderly as you can – working up to an unhurried, deliberate rhythm. Gamzee pushes against your hand to the rhythm you've created. You can feel his breath becoming heavier and heavier. Depending on how hard you press, he'll take a sharp intake of air, bury his face into your neck, and groan loudly. You'd rather not keep this torture up – the troll could get the fucking hint earlier, but he can't get it now? Your bulge is aching. Badly. You massage him more, until he's finally out of your neck. He manages to lift himself up right on his knees, forcing you to remove your hand from him. It feels like a whole perigee of him staring at you before he takes his unexpectedly nimble fingers and puts them to work on your pants. Once the knot on them is undone, he pulls them down. You wiggle your way out of them with his help. Your bulge feels much better for it.

…Well, you did say you want the pants off.

In an instant you feel a heated grip around your bulge – a pump up and down its length extracts a surprised cry from the back of your throat. Your hips reflexively push upward into the touch as he adds the friction you need to feel some sort of relief. You hear him struggle with something, but your eyes are closed tight and you're losing yourself in pleasure. Something is thrown somewhere. You pry your eyes open by some force of unimaginable will just in time to see gamzee move himself back on top of you, bulge finally out, and putting it against yours. You feel the heat that's gathered up in the area against your own. It feels amazing. _Fantastic. _He holds himself firmly against your bulge with his own, stroking yours and his at the same time. His movements are steady and sure. He moves his hand at a leisurely pace.

You know that he's moving his hand this slow on purpose – you almost feel yourself on the brink of release. You can't even bring his name out of your mouth fully anymore. You're stuck between the moans he elicits out of you, your variety of curses, and the shortened "Gam". His grunts and groans are getting more and more frequent – he's almost there too. Your hands are grabbing at everything – the floor, the air – in an effort to get anything to stabilize you. You know there's nothing to really grab. Yet, your attempt to grip the floor is admirable. The sheen of sweat on your legs is making you stick to the tiles. You are sticking and unsticking yourself as the lower half of your body strains upwards into Gamzee's touch.

You want him to go faster. You know he can – so much faster.

Faster.

_Faster._

Oh FUCK YES.

This white heat surrounds your entire body – encompasses it completely and totally. Your whole body shudders. Spurts of genetic fluid shoot out of your bulge – you're vaguely aware of some falling onto the edge of your shirt. A couple of pumps later and you feel his bulge twitch and added wetness against your bulge and thigh. It takes you a while to catch your breath – Gamzee too. But the whole time the two of you are looking each other straight in the eye, a blush on your face and a sloppily placed grin on his. He leans down and gives you a peck on the lips. When he starts to plant more pecks down your neck and down your chest and stomach through your shirt, you start to wonder what he's doing. You figured the two of you were finish – …what the fuck is he doing?

…He's nibbling on the edge of your shirt.

You open your mouth to question him but you silence yourself when feel his hot tongue lick from the end of your inner thigh all the way up, taking all the genetic fluid that was on there with it, in one slick motion. He licks backward and upward, licking up all the fluid he can manage, and inching closer and closer to your bulge. He starts at the base of it, where little droplets of both your genetic material are falling toward the floor. Tiny licks take care of that. Gamzee is holding down your hips as you attempt to buck upward into his mouth's wet heat. How the living fuck is he so skilled at this? You try not to moan – you want some of your dignity to be left intact – it's so difficult when he's sucking, licking, and kissing every inch of your bulge. He slides his tongue upward along your length and when he gets to the tip of it you bite your already sore lip as lightly as you can to keep from making a sound. By the time he's finished all the genetic material is gone and you don't even know how you kept yourself from getting a full erection again.

Gamzee looks up at you and rewards you with a toothy grin. You smile back at him before he lifts his head up, opening his mouth to talk, but he suddenly closes it, his grin disappearing as fast as it appeared. His eyes narrow and he turns his head to the side. It's as if he's listening for something. He always did have better hearing than you. In a flash he's off the ground in front of you, turning around and grabbing his all too familiar purple spotted pants. He puts them on quickly. He turns back to you.

"Better get your pants on, Karbro. Someone's coming."

You stare at him. All you do is stare. You open your mouth. Close it. You're flabbergasted. After all you've done tonight, this is what you get? Just a "c'mon, Karkat"? His eyes are pleading with you though, and despite the glare you're giving him now, you do as you're told. You tie the string on your pants and pull tight so that you know they won't fall. Your hearing finally starts to work. That means somebody must be getting close. Gamzee walks over to you, and kisses you on the cheek.

"I'll be back, best friend."

You step back and look at him incredulously.

"Gamz –"

He shoosh paps you. A calm hand seems to have quite an effect on you, since your bubbling anger is dying down.

"We'll make miracles happen again soon."

He kisses you on the cheek one more time. Before you have time to reply, he finds a vent and crawls into it. He left you alone.

Again.

The footsteps are almost around the corner now. The sound is almost deafening as it bounces against all the thoughts in your head. You can even see a little bit of luminescence coming from where the sound is. You mumble a "son of a bitch" before you head the opposite direction of the footsteps. Who the fuck knows how you'll get out of here, since Gamzee is the one who led you here. Either way, you make yourself scarce. You make sure your footsteps are as silent as possible. Shit on a vestigial chest sac – no, shit on an on overly acidic nook, what the fuck? How could you let this happen? How could you fucking let him take you like that and just slip away like it was nothing? Maybe you should calm down, but you won't. Maybe you should try to make sense of things, but you won't. You're too fucked up – too angry.

Too alone.

You don't want to feel like this. You know if you reason things out, you probably will feel less shitty. So let's try, shall we? First of all, no one wants to get caught with their bulge out. Second, you're not stupid enough to think that light was from a lamp. It had to be Kanaya. If you were listening to the steps more carefully, you would have known that. Only Kanaya wears heels that make that type of click. It's a subtle yet major difference. There. Two good reasons why it was the best idea to leave.

But it still irks you.

Now that you've done this together, what does that make you two? Matesprits? What about your moiraillagiance? What do you want from him? What about your feelings for Terezi? What, what, what, what, what. You're getting tired of questions. You're getting tired of thinking.

You look up, finally finding yourself in familiar enough surroundings that you can make your way to your block. When you magically make it there, you plop in your movie pile and bury yourself in it. All you want is him to be around more. You miss him. You can't even deny it anymore. It seemed like he missed you too – like he needed you. You want to think that. You want to think that so badly. He said he would come back. You have to believe in him. You hear a small _clunk_ from the top of your block, but you're too tired to go check out what it is. Maybe you'll watch a movie or two and calm down. Yeah. That sounds like a plan. You get up from your pile, and start to pick out some of your more choice movies to watch. Maybe one day Gamzee will be able to sit and watch these with you. But you don't need anybody to watch it with you, right Karkat? You hear another sound from the side of your wall this time.

Maybe it's Gamzee?

Nah. There's no vent in here for him to get in the room itself – though there probably are some above the room and on the side. He can't see you from in here. With a sigh, you decide it's best to let things die down. When something happens, it will happen. You will deal with it then. For now, pop some movies in. Or maybe some Thresh Prince instead. So, that's what you do. You watch Thresh Prince for who knows how long, and you laugh at the antics of troll Will Smith as he shows those blue bloods what he's good for. You cry at the episode where he talks about how his lusus left him very early on as a wriggler. It's distracting. Yet, it's not as distracting as you thought it would be. You can't help it when you still think of Gamzee the entire time. You can't help that you think every sound on this fucking meteor could be him without you knowing it. You think he's watching you somehow, in some way.

And that's all you could really hope for. At least until your next dream bubble. Then you'll see him again.

You think.


End file.
